Page 116 of Bonds of Shame, Bonds of Lust

I nodded. I couldn't talk.

"Tell me."

"I—" It cracked. "I want to suck your cock."

"Say please."

"I want to suck your cock. Please." And then, small and wrecked, "Please. Oh my God. Green." Before he could ask.

I loved how I sounded. Everything I'd been taught never to say, out of my own mouth, on my knees for him, and it was perfect. It was perfect.

He reached down and put his hand in my hair and pulled my head back, not rough, but inexorable, no give in it at all. With his other hand he took his cock and ran it across my lips. I put my tongue out to taste him.

"Not yet." He didn't move it away. "But I like how eager you are. Hold one hand up, fingers splayed.”

I did as he said.

“Now if you want to stop or are uncomfortable, you close that hand or drop your arm. Because you won’t be able to speak. Do you understand me?”

On my knees, ready to serve him, with my hand up. “Yes, I understand.”

Then: "Open your mouth."

I did.

"You're a good girl, aren't you?" A beat. "Tell me."

I looked up at him. "I'm a good girl."

And I felt it happen, like I was shrinking and growing at the same time, that hazy feeling of coming loose from the room, from myself. I loved it. It scared me. Both at once, and I couldn't have told you which was winning.

"Open."

I opened, and he brought the head of him to my mouth and let me have just that, let me hold it, lick it, work my lips over the tip while he watched, and made me stay there, made me want it so badly my whole body strained toward more of it. I had to open all the way, aching for it.

Then his hand tightened in my hair, and he pushed me onto him, slow, taking his time about it, until he was almost at the back of my throat, almost gagging me, and held me there.

I wanted it. Wanted it deep, wanted it in me, wanted to be doing whatever he told me to do. He set the pace with his hand in my hair, long, slow, using my mouth like it was his to use, and it was, and that was what I wanted. Not being pleasured. Being used. Made into pleasure for him. He pushed deeper and I gagged. He stopped but I kept my hand up and open.

Then he held it there. Deep. Choking me with it.

I stayed exactly where he'd put me, no air, tears coming, and some part of me I'd never met went quiet and glad in a way I had no words for. My hand stayed open and steady.

Then he let go and pulled back and I gasped, dragging air, mouth wet, eyes streaming, and I still didn't move my hand.

He lifted me up off my knees. And then a change I wasn't ready for: he wiped the tears off my face, careful, with his thumb, and kissed me, soft, unhurried, nothing like what he'd just done to me. Gentle in a way no one had been gentle with me in years. It went through me worse than the choking had. I didn't know where to put it.

"Beautiful," he said against my mouth. "My perfect girl."

I looked at him through wet eyes. "Thank you."

He walked me back to the bed. "I'm not going to wait anymore."

And then, for the first time all night, an expression crossed his face that wasn't certainty, and he looked around.

"What?" It came out scared. I thought I'd done something wrong. "What is it?"

"Lacey." A beat. "I don't have anything. I didn't plan for this. I don't have a condom."